


Ambrosia

by cantadora_09



Category: Dracula (TV 2020)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Geth, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26061571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantadora_09/pseuds/cantadora_09
Summary: What happens if Agatha ends up in Dracula's castle? What will she do there and how will the Count react to it?The story of what could have happened if Dracula had not gone to the convent. And also – about the roads, leading where they should lead, even if the one who walks along them does not know about it.
Relationships: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Ambrosia

**Oh, if fate could be transformed so**

**So that he can rise to me,**

**Or so I could go down to him.**

**Lope de Vega**

‘Have you brought it?’

‘Yes, Mr. Count.’

‘Show me.’

The stunted peasant leaned over to the wagon and, reaching out for the heavy wicker basket in it, threw back the lid. Inside, tightly pressed together, laid five bottles of wine, several pieces of raw meat wrapped in thick paper, and a huge fish. After examining the contents of the basket, the person who asked the question nodded in satisfaction and handed the peasant a small bag of dense fabric.

‘For that and a deposit on the next delivery,’ he said.

With a bow, the peasant took the bag and put it in his pocket.

‘What do you have there?’ the man asked, grasping the handle of the basket.

The peasant turned where he indicated. The entire right side of the cart was covered with a simple thick cloth. He hesitated for a minute as if he didn't know what to say. After watching his interlocutor takes a basket out of the cart with one hand – the very basket that he and his friend had hardly loaded there together a couple of hours ago, the peasant cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot.

‘The dead thing is there, your lordship,’ he said hesitantly. He bent down again and threw back the fabric. Beneath it was a very pale, red-haired, middle-aged woman in a blue dress with a wide white collar.

‘Nun,’ the peasant said, looking sympathetically at the woman. ‘Looks like she went to the forest for berries or something else, and got lost. She was sick, I think’ nodding at the woman's white cheeks, he added. ‘She did not calculate the strength, so she ruined herself.’ The peasant sighed. ‘I'm taking her to the city, maybe someone will recognize her there.’

The man put the basket on the ground next to him. For some time he, bowing his head, silently examined the stranger.

‘Where is her veil?’ he asked.

‘What, your lordship?’ the peasant did not understand.

‘If this is a nun, then she must be wearing a cap and a veil,’ the man said. ‘Bride of the Lord. Isn't that what they call themselves?’

‘Yes,’ the peasant agreed. ‘Maybe she lost them in the forest.’ He looked at the woman, brow furrowing. The dead woman seemed neither young nor beautiful, but he was desperately sorry for her.

‘Was that with her?’ a deep voice distracted the peasant from his gloomy thoughts. The peasant shuddered and looked at the large canvas bag lying next to the woman's body. He nodded.

The man opened the bag and looked inside.

‘Interesting,’ he said with a strange smile. Stretching out his neck, the peasant tried to see what he saw there. Nothing special – some pieces of wood.

‘I'll take her too,’ the man said. He lifted the basket again and put it back in its original place, then straightened the hem of his long black cloak and walked over to the box of the cart. ‘You’ll get the cart tomorrow after sunset,’ he said, sitting down and taking hold of the reins. ‘Together with double pay,’ he added, turning to the peasant, who was dumbfounded watching him.

The peasant nodded silently and took a couple of steps back.

‘Your lordship,’ he ventured to call out to the man when the cart had already started. ‘But why do you need her?’ The peasant cleared his throat. ‘She's dead.’

The cloaked man shook the reins and pulled them lightly.

‘You are wrong. She's alive,’ he said with a short glance at the peasant and started the horses at a gallop.

***

Agatha opened her eyes and just laid for several minutes, trying to figure out where she was. It is unlikely that she can count on heavenly bushes, an inner voice squeaked sarcastically. Agatha sighed sadly. She should have known at once that the idea of going alone through the forest to Bistritz was foolish. It was foolish to think that in her condition she would be able to go far. It was foolish to run away without speaking to the Mother Superior. It’s even more stupid to take off, leaving everything behind, just because of what some fishermen told.

Stirring, she pulled her knees up to her chest and sat down, mechanically pulling up the heavy blanket she covered. Lowering her eyes, Agatha stared at it. The blanket was expensive and beautiful, but most importantly, very warm. She straightened up and looked around.

She was sitting on a large, wide bed in a candlelit room, elegantly furnished, but somewhat... old-fashioned. Throwing back the blanket, Agatha got out of bed and carefully took a few steps on the carpet. The carpet was thick and hid under it, – Agatha bent down, peering – the gray stone floor. The same gray were the walls, partly draped with antique tapestries. On one of the walls was a shield with a roughly carved coat of arms.

What is this place, going up to the shield and running her hand over the cold metal, Agatha thought. It looks like a medieval castle. She looked around again and walked to the window. Behind the curtain was a perfectly clean glass covered with scratches. The window was located high above the ground and overlooked... Agatha flung open the sash and leaned out. Probably overlooked the courtyard.

This is all very strange, she thought as she closed the window and returned to the bed. Bare feet froze, and Agatha hurried to put them in her shoes. Her gaze darted back to the shield. The coat of arms on it seemed familiar. But it can't be... An unexpected guess made her rise sharply. Approaching a large desk against the wall with a shield, she examined it in search of confirmation of her crazy idea. But she found nothing – except a stack of blank paper, a few books in Latin, and writing utensils. Above all this was a candelabrum, darkened with time, with five candles illuminating the desk surface. Agatha looked up again. The coat of arms from the shield looked at her with silent dignity.

Taking the candelabrum from the desk, Agatha stood still for a while, then walked to the door and, opening it, looked out into the corridor.

It was completely empty and looked even more ancient than the room.

Closing the door behind her, Agatha moved forward down the corridor.

***

She went down the stairs for so long that it began to unpleasantly resemble her recent wandering through the woods. The massive candelabrum pulled back a hand. When the stone, in places overgrown with moss steps ended, Agatha sighed with relief. Taking a few more careful steps, she stopped at the entrance to the great hall.

The first thing that caught her eye was a long stone table, which looked somehow especially um... solemn in the light of the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Agatha looked back at the staircase, the foot of which was decorated with large round lamps – the fire blazing in them illuminated the entire lobby. The owner of this castle clearly has problems with a sense of proportion, turning to the table again, Agatha thought.

At the head of the table was a man of about forty or forty-five, making notes on some papers spread out in front of him. When Agatha appeared, he raised his head and smiled. The smile was deliberately kind and not at all friendly.

‘I see you've come to your senses... Sister,’ from the high ceiling, the man's voice seemed more resonant and booming than it probably was. ‘Come in, share a meal with me.’

Agatha ignored the invitation. Grabbing the candelabrum more comfortably, she walked along the table and sank into one of the chairs at a safe distance from the man. As far as in her position it was possible to talk about safety.

‘You are Count Dracula,’ she said calmly.

‘Nice to meet you,’ the man tilted his head. ‘Will I be honored to know your name, sister?’

‘Agatha van Helsing,’ Agatha leaned against the back of a chair.

Glancing around the room quickly, she made sure that there was no one but herself and the Count in it. Behind Dracula was a fireplace, in which a flame was also blazing. Why does he need a fireplace, Agatha thought. He's a vampire.

‘How did I get here?’ she asked the Count, who put the papers aside and continued to examine her with the same expression of exaggerated courtesy. ‘And why am I here at all?’

He's tall, she noted mechanically. In the books that Agatha read, there were not so many descriptions of Dracula, and those that were, more likely resembled terrible fairy tales or hysterical screams of frightened unbalanced children. One of the treatises said that the Count had fused eyebrows, red eyes, and a horn in the center of his forehead.

‘There are so many questions, but dinner is not touched,’ Dracula replied calmly. ‘I don’t like to discuss business on an empty stomach.’ His long fingers wrapped around the stem of glass next to him on the table. Agatha noticed a ring on his annular – with the same coat of arms as on the shield. A dragon in a crown, coiled into a circle.

Well, it had to be admitted that there was nothing strange or supernatural in the appearance of the count, as in all his outlook. Just a very large man, clearly strong and trained – Agatha did not often see soldiers or military leaders, but she suspected that ordinary people did not have such a calmly confident shoulder turn.

He was also pale. Not like parchment, chalk, or whatever else the same exalted authors liked to mention, but rather like a person who has spent a lot of time in a dark room or simply lives in a country that has not pampered him with the sun. On a handsome face stood out eyes – dark, deep, sharp – and mockingly curved scarlet lips. Unnaturally scarlet, Agatha noted. She glanced at the glass. So that's what is poured there.

‘And I am a treat?’ she asked. ‘But in that case, where is your business partner?’

Dracula smiled. It was impossible to tell whether his smile expressed approval or condescending curiosity.

‘I’m not used to offering guests dishes that I’m not sure of the taste and quality of,’ he said. ‘It's impolite, isn't it?’

Agatha said nothing. Silently she watched as he took a long sip and, licking his lips, returns the glass to its place.

Agatha turned away and looked at the thick brass leg of the candelabrum. Realizing that she was still holding it tightly, she removed her hand and looked back at Dracula. He sat with his palms folded on the table in front of him and looked like a contented host who would be happy to serve a guest. Lowering her eyes, Agatha stared at the plate in front of her. The perfectly clean surface reflected the candle flame and her own frightened profile.

Sighing, Agatha tore her gaze from it and, reaching for the closest food dish to her, lifted the lid. In the complete silence that continued, she put a chunk of cold pork on her plate and took hold of the fork.

The meat was excellent.

For several minutes she ate in silence, and the Count began flipping through the papers again, idly sipping blood from his glass.

When the dinner was over, it became impossible to remain silent any longer.

‘Who brought me here?’ Agatha asked, putting aside the cutlery and defiantly not touching the drinks.

‘Me,’ the Count replied calmly. He carefully closed the document in front of him and looked at her.

‘Did you find me in the woods?’ she asked. ‘Judging by what the books say about you, you could. Have you been hunting?’

‘Have you read about me, Sister Agatha?’

The lips parted in a grin were still scarlet, and he undoubtedly knew it.

‘Are you surprised that books have been written about you, or that a woman can read?’ Agatha herself did not know what was more in her words – a challenge or a desire to drown out her own fear.

Dracula laughed.

‘Neither one nor the other. The first is obvious, and talking about the second…’ he bent down slightly and smiled at her. ‘Sister Agatha van Helsing, I have lived in this world for a little over four hundred years. During this time, the idea of what a woman can and cannot do has changed several times – like everything else, however. So I'm used to not trusting superficial theories and conventional wisdom.’

‘A condition of survival,’ Agatha nodded. ‘But if you hunted, why didn't you eat me right there?’

Dracula threw up his hands.

‘Perhaps I wanted to make you last?’

She shook her head.

‘Hardly. You haven't tried it,’ Agatha resisted the urge to shrug. ‘Rather, you needed to replenish your supplies. If you do them at all. Legends,’ noticing a spark of interest in the eyes of the Count, she continued slowly, ‘legends about you are complex and confusing. From them, it is not so easy to understand what you can and cannot.’ She frowned. ‘To tell the truth, I think most of them are complete nonsense. But there are some interesting points. Especially when it comes to…’ Agatha stuttered. ‘Comes to your attitude to food.’

The count raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

‘For example, the books say,’ pushing the empty plate aside, Agatha leaned her hands on the table, intertwining her fingers, ‘that you are educated, refined and smart. The best among vampires.’ She grunted skeptically. ‘But the main thing is that you are _picky_. I don’t understand what this means?’

Dracula looked like he had no idea what she was talking about. Agatha strained her memory.

‘Let's say the books are simply inaccurate or their authors embellish the stories,’ she mused aloud. ‘But there are also rumors. You know, there are a lot of them in Bistritz. Well, and not only in Bistritz – and not only among plain folk. People disappear in the city and the surrounding area. Very different people.’

The Count leaned back in his chair. Now he was looking at Agatha with open curiosity.

‘And it's not that they have different social status or wealth,’ Agatha continued. ‘The point is different. But what is it?’ She frowned again, sinking deeper into her thoughts. ‘Physical strength is clearly not in the first place here: even if you forget about me,’ she darkened for a moment, ‘of those who disappeared in Bistritz in six months, only two were tall and strong. But of the other five, – according to the description, rather flimsy – one in his village was nicknamed Sharp-nosed for his delicate nose, another was a carpenter and knew better than anyone else in wood species, and the third…’ Agatha paused, wrinkling her forehead. ‘But all this has nothing to do. And so I thought... Oh!’ she exclaimed, looking up at Dracula. ‘Oh, of course. What unites them is neither external nor material. They are united by their _quality_.’ She stared at the Count. ‘Do you take something from them?’

Dracula seemed almost impressed.

‘I always said, you are what you eat,’ he remarked after a short pause. ‘Blood is lives, Sister Agatha.’

‘Too vague explanation,’ Agatha made an impatient gesture. ‘Could you clarify?’ she asked, and abruptly fell silent, bumping into his cheerful gaze.

‘I could,’ Dracula grinned. ‘But I don’t think now is the right time for that.’

Agatha swallowed.

‘If you take something from the victims,’ she said, trying to maintain a calm expression, ‘and if this is possible, then each of them had – or has – something that you wanted to receive.’

Dracula nodded.

‘Then why do you need me?’ said Agatha, overcoming the urge to dash off and run away. ‘You don’t know anything about me.’

Dracula stared at her.

‘You managed to get my attention.’

Agatha raised an eyebrow.

‘Lying unconscious in the forest?’

‘In the cart,’ he smiled. ‘You were in the cart. The peasant who picked you up told me he was taking you to Bistritz, hoping that they would identify you there, but I think he was going to sell you to the traders of the dead.’

Agatha drew in a breath in silence.

‘He, however, was quite delicate,’ Dracula continued, as if not noticing her reaction. ‘Left you dressed and did not touch your things. Don't blame him.’ He chuckled. ‘You didn’t really look fresh and blooming.’

‘Yes, but why would you…’

Dracula leaned back in his chair.

‘I thought it was interesting,’ he drawled thoughtfully. ‘A nun with a bag of aspen stakes. Rarely seen.’

They looked at each other for a moment. Finally, Agatha averted her eyes.

‘Do you communicate a lot with nuns?’ she asked.

The Count shrugged.

‘If you saw one, then consider that you saw them all. But you are undoubtedly different from them,’ he said, nodding absently to some of his thoughts, and suddenly leaned forward, sharply and quickly.

Agatha gripped the seat with one hand, glancing at the candelabrum. It is unlikely that it could be a serious weapon, but it was still better than nothing.

However, the Count did not seem to be about to attack.

‘The peasant found you in the western part of the forest,’ he said. ‘You were armed,’ Dracula paused, ‘but strangely you didn’t stock up on food and water. And I don't think you were planning on spending the night under a tree. Lost your way?’

Agatha looked down.

‘There is a turn there, and immediately behind it is a road. And this road leads in one direction,’ the Count finished. ‘Leads to me.’

Unleashing her fingers numb with tension, Agatha brought her palms to her face and brushed them across her forehead and cheeks.

‘I…’ she began.

‘You went here, to this castle,’ Dracula did not let her finish. ‘Do not deny – to understand this, it is enough to trace your route.’

He straightened, returning to his former calm posture. Raising her head, Agatha looked for a couple of seconds at his hands lying on the table. Large fingers ended in long nails, hard and sharpened.

‘I've been studying different… strange things for years,’ she said. ‘I was doing this before… even before I got to the monastery. But then it was mostly in theory. Fragmentary observations of primitive creatures do not count. And I generally considered you a legend.’

Dracula looked at her questioningly.

‘A four-hundred-year-old Count who terrifies the whole neighborhood,’ Agatha spread her hands. ‘Typical peasant tales!’

He said nothing, expecting to continue.

‘But a week ago,’ Agatha sighed, realizing that it would be impossible to avoid explanations, ‘two people came to me. Two fishermen. They were scared to death and assured that the sea had brought a walking dead man into their net.’

Dracula tilted his head.

‘According to them, he behaved like a living person and constantly repeated that he had escaped from the Count who was trying to steal his soul.’

‘Johnny. My bride,’ Dracula smiled slowly.

Agatha looked up at him.

‘Bride?’ she asked incredulously.

Dracula's smile widened.

‘Don't you like the term?’

Agatha shook her head.

‘It depends on what this means in your case. I suspect something disgusting.’

‘Less than you think,’ Dracula said quietly. Agatha glanced at him quickly, but the very next second the expression of sadness and regret that flashed across his face was replaced by the old cool curiosity. ‘What's next?’

‘Of course, I didn't believe them,’ Agatha said. ‘Not right away, at least.’

‘What convinced you?’

‘Details,’ she shrugged. ‘If you’ve been fishing and selling your catch in the local market all your life, you can think of a drowned man who walks and talks, but he’s unlikely to be an Englishman in a cambric shirt.’

Dracula grunted in agreement.

‘Perhaps. So you went to him. But why did you change your plans?’

Agatha rubbed her eyes wearily.

‘You won't understand it.’

‘Why?’

You`ve been living too long, she wanted to tell him. In such a life, there is no room for impulsive actions and decisions.

Oh, are they so impulsive?

‘The man you named Johnny,’ she said slowly, ‘by the way, what is his?.’

‘Jonathan Harker.’

Agatha nodded.

‘He was definitely a vampire. Therefore, I became interested in him. But while I was deciding what to do with this and whether to go to Bistritz, the news came that his beloved had come to Harker.’ Agatha paused and ran her hand over her forehead. ‘I thought... I thought she would take care of him.’

Taking her hand away from her face, she looked at Dracula.

‘And that's when it occurred to me…’ Agatha fell silent again, confused under his gaze. ‘It occurred to me that if that person is a vampire, then that means that you… you exist, and it is quite possible that you really are who you are believed to be.’

Dracula didn't answer.

‘And if so, then I do not need him, but you.’

She fell silent again, expecting a new question, but the Count was in no hurry to ask it.

For several minutes Dracula studied her carefully.

‘It's late,’ he said finally, ‘I suppose you're tired. Return to your room. We can finish our conversation tomorrow.’ He stood up and reached for his papers.

In confusion, Agatha watches as, collecting them and bowing graciously, he goes to the exit from the hall.

‘You still haven't explained why I'm here,’ Agatha said after him.

‘Oh, dear sister Agatha,’ the Count turned to her and smiled charmingly. ‘Are you sure that I myself know this?’

***

‘I told Johnny that this castle was designed as a labyrinth.’

‘Labyrinth, are you sure?’ Agatha stopped in the middle of the stairs and turned around.

Last evening, reaching the bed, she fell on it and slept dreamlessly until the morning. Waking up with the first rays of the sun, she laid for a long time, thinking about what happened to her and what she should do now. There was no answer, and, in general, Agatha doubted that it existed.

She wanted to get to Dracula's castle – and she did. Wanted to see the Count – she saw him. And even, – she got up, frowning, and looked at the door to the room, – she survived that night successfully. Without accidents. Wouldn`t she remember, if?. Sliding her glance on the door once more, she gazed at the key sticking out in the lock. The key was not here yesterday. Agatha just snorted wearily. See, what a nobility. It's like Dracula doesn't have a spare one. However, despite the mocking subtext clearly visible in this gesture, the presence of the key instilled a semblance of calm. He wants to play with you, the voice of reason remarked skeptically. Agatha couldn't help but agree. But what could she do?

Getting out of bed and putting herself in order, she went to wander around the castle. Fairly judging that Dracula, most likely, sleeps during the day, and therefore the likelihood of meeting him is minimal, Agatha decided that this was the best opportunity to look around.

For half a day, spent wandering through endless corridors, rooms, and passages, she managed to completely fizzle out and lose hope of understanding them. She was practically desperate when, on the third climb of the same stairs, a familiar voice overtook her.

‘Petruvio, the architect who created this castle, was a genius,’ Dracula, who was standing on the resting-place by a flight above, went down and approached Agatha. ‘Believe me, if he wanted it to be impossible to get out of here, there was no reason that could prevent him.’

‘Well, I wasn't going to... get out,’ Agatha noticed, catching her breath and taking a long look around the stairs. ‘I just wanted to find a pattern in all this. Or at least its likeness.’

Dracula looked thoughtfully and curiously.

‘And it seemed to me that as soon as morning comes, you will immediately rush to the exit.’

‘Didn't you say that I was striving here?’

‘There are predators in this place.’

‘So you're not alone here?’

He laughed.

‘Now I am. Recently. But I’m enough, don’t you think?’

Agatha turned and began to descend.

‘I think that if you didn't eat me yesterday – and at night – then you don't plan to do it right away. Which means I can do something besides trying to figure out when you're going to bite my throat.’

A low laugh came after her.

‘Go straight and to the right, – and you will come out to the great hall,’ she heard. ‘I advise you to hurry up. Lunch will cool down.’

***

‘Not a labyrinth,’ Agatha shook her head and, pulling a large cup to her, drank without looking. ‘Not a labyrinth, look.’ She took one of the sheets of parchment scattered in front of her on the table and pointed to the drawing. ‘It's just very difficult. Yes, complex, but quite logical,’ Agatha leaned over, trying to get a better look at the image. ‘Oh God, and handsome,’ she said, smiling. ‘Where did you find this?’

The dinner was not to say luxurious, but perfectly cooked and delicious. When Agatha was almost done with dessert, Dracula reappeared, carrying in his hands a huge pile of parchments and scrolls. In response to her puzzled question, he threw the heap on the table in front of her, saying that if she was interested in the castle and its structure, she should start with this.

‘Not me, but Johnny,’ Dracula stood at her right shoulder, resting his hand on the table. ‘As far as I understand, he was looking for an escape – and finally found it. And I found him when, having stumbled upon these very papers, I went down to the basement after him.’ In thought, Dracula picked up one of the sheets that had turned yellow with time and began to examine it. ‘I thought the plan was lost. Or – that there was no plan at all. But Johnny was smart, stubborn, and, which is important, cornered. He longed to get out, looking wherever he could reach, and, apparently, eventually got... to Petruvio himself.’

Agatha looked at Dracula blankly.

‘Portraits of Petruvio and his wife on the third floor. The drawing was hidden in a cache behind one of them,’ explained the Count.

She nodded.

‘So this is how he escaped…’ Leaning back in her chair, Agatha looked victoriously at Dracula. ‘Your... what did you call him? Oh yes, the bride. He outsmarted you. He found the drawing, deciphered it, and took off.

‘He jumped off the roof,’ Dracula replied calmly. ‘After he was almost killed by my... well, let's say, the former bride, of those that I kept in the basement. I will not say that she was guided by jealousy. But who knows?’

Agatha felt herself turning pale.

‘You locked him in the basement with her?’ again lowering her eyes to the drawings, she asked.

‘He went down there himself,’ the Count reminded. ‘I suppose in a fit of nobility. He was like that, my Johnny.’ He made a pause. ‘Having got here, for some reason he thought that those who wander in the darkness around the castle were prisoners. Just like him. He wanted to free them. Well, you know, the desire to help those languishing in prison and that.’

They were silent for a while.

‘Is she still there?’ Agatha finally asked. ‘She and... and... others?’

‘No,’ Dracula said quietly. ‘They are gone.’

Agatha nodded mutely. For several minutes she sat, thoughtlessly leafing through the drawings. Her chest ached. And she was cold.

‘Legends say that most vampires are hungry and wild, no better than animals, and maybe worse,’ she said, still not turning around and not daring to look at the Count. ‘None of them remember who they were before and do not realize who they are now.’ She was silent for a while. ‘Therefore, when I was told about a man who by all accounts seems to be a vampire, but at the same time not only knows his name but longs to meet his bride, I just did not believe it.’

‘He is very strong.’

‘It must be,’ Agatha ran her hand over her forehead. ‘It must be, but... never mind. The important thing is that you were right.’ She forced herself to sit up straight and looked at Dracula. ‘Although before that I myself did not realize how much. I went to someone who got on the net. But I did not come to you by chance.’

Dracula pulled up a chair and, sitting down, put his hands on the table in front of him. For a moment he studied her intently.

‘Tell me.’

...

‘So three months.’

‘The biggest.’

Dracula tapped his fingers on the table.

‘That's where your blind fearlessness comes from, that's why you are interested in vampires and that's why the monastery. Are you really a nun?’

Agatha shook her head.

‘Having learned about the disease, I immediately left home. I didn't want to burden anyone with myself. My parents already have enough worries to take care of their overgrown dying daughter,’ she said with a sad smile. ‘They are not rich and are no longer young. I decided... let them live out their days in peace and tranquility.’

She stared straight ahead, avoiding Dracula's gaze.

‘I didn't know… when the doctor told me… told me about it, I was confused. I couldn't decide what to do. What should I... and where...’ She paused and finished quietly: ‘I had no plan. I just... just left. I told my family that I wanted to visit my friend in Amsterdam. They were not surprised,’ Agatha smiled, hearing a questioning chuckle coming from Dracula, ‘believe me, I have always been strange. The small savings that I had was enough for a ticket to Bistritz. On the very first day there, in the church, I saw nuns from the convent of the Saint Mary of Budapest. They collected donations for the construction of the infirmary. And I suddenly thought – why should I go somewhere else? And I asked permission to go with them. The Mother Superior did not ask anything. And also she did not demand anything. So I stayed in the convent.’

‘Stayed to wait for death,’ summed up Dracula.

Agatha nodded and ran her hand over the parchment that was still in front of her. In the center of the corridor shown in the drawing, there was a thin fold line. It was rough to the touch.

‘It's an illusion that when there’s nothing left, it becomes easier,’ Agatha said quietly. ‘But in the monastery I was calm. I... liked being there.’

They were silent for several minutes.

‘How long have you...’ Dracula began.

‘Four weeks.’

‘Until the news of Jonathan's arrival came.’

Still not looking at him, Agatha nodded.

‘I could ask you again what made you change your plans,’ Dracula drawled thoughtfully. ‘But I won't.’

‘Why?’ she fiddled with the edge of the parchment sheet, still not daring to look at the Count.

Dracula was silent.

‘Johnny was strong and brave,’ he said. ‘But if even after falling from the roof he retained his mind, I doubt that he could have done what you were going to ask me.’

Agatha looked up at him.

‘How do you know?’

He shifted with one shoulder.

‘I'm four hundred years old, Agatha. And I've spent enough time in the war to learn how to recognize people who need a coup de grâce*.’

The words whipped, making her tremble, in pain at his righteousness and in shame at her own weakness and cowardice. Releasing the unfortunate parchment, she leaned back in her chair and covered her face with her hands.

‘Do you need special care?’

Agatha almost winced at the businesslike calm that sounded in his voice. She straightened up.

‘No, I don't. The doctor said that my illness... From his experience, such a form ends quickly enough, and most patients survive it on their feet,’ Agatha forced herself to look at the Count. ‘Provided that they do not overload themselves and regularly drink fish oil. He said I was lucky.’

‘And yet you will have care – if it suddenly turns out that the doctor was mistaken,’ said Dracula, looking at her thoughtfully.

Agatha looked at him blankly.

‘You will stay at the castle,’ he said. ‘You will stay and live the life that you lived in the monastery. I am ready to provide you with the library and the opportunity to continue your research if you want,’ he said before she could argue. ‘Were you interested in vampires? You will have round-the-clock access to the most extraordinary of them. And when I see that you begin to weaken – and this is exactly what you are afraid of – weakness and gradual extinction, – I will kill you,’ he finished calmly.

Agatha was silent, unable to move and look away from him. Dracula sat upright, lit from the back by the fire from the fireplace, and his face seemed unreadable. But in the depths of his dark eyes, there was anticipation and excitement.

‘What will you get from all this?’ she asked slowly.

Dracula raised an eyebrow.

‘Sorry?’

Agatha leaned back in her chair.

‘You offered me a table and shelter, probably one of the best libraries in Eastern Europe, the opportunity to continue my experiments and you as a model for my research,’ she said, staring at Dracula. ‘And in addition, when I can no longer enjoy all this, you are kindly ready to kill me, saving me from a long agony. Looks like a perfect deal.’

Dracula watched her with his former deliberately impassive expression.

‘Too good to be true,’ Agatha concluded. ‘What is your interest here?’

He lowered his head, obviously holding back a smile.

‘Agatha,’ he said, looking at her again. ‘Honestly, I thought you are smarter. You are not the only one who is carried away by science and knowledge,’ seeing that she still does not understand, he added. ‘My… experiments touch on a wide variety of areas, and with the right approach, you can become the best of them.’

‘The best... What does this mean?’ Agatha frowned. ‘If you want to appropriate some of my qualities, as you usually do with your victims,’ she drummed her fingers on the table, ‘what's the point in waiting? Why not do it now?’

Dracula tilted his head.

‘As I understand it, you are in no hurry.’

‘As I understand it, you are rarely interested in other people's plans.’

Dracula laughed.

‘Your qualities...’ he said, smiling, ‘your qualities.’ Rising slowly, he walked over to Agatha and bent over her. Agatha involuntarily held her breath. ‘Your mind, your thirst for the new, your desire for truth. All this is here, inside you, so beautiful and alluring.’ He paused, casting a long caressing look at her. ‘And so immature.’

‘What…’ Agatha began.

Dracula straightened up, still staring at her.

‘You are like a vine, which in order to turn into a precious drink must absorb the best properties of the soil,’ he continued with a slight smile. ‘I will let you go to the place where deep knowledge is contained, where your curiosity and impetuosity will be balanced by the wisdom of the ages. You can saturate them with philosophy and biology, chemistry and physics, and whatever else you want. And when this happens, and you are filled to the brim with them, when this knowledge becomes a part of _you_ , then I can enjoy you. Trust me, this will be the perfect bouquet.’

Agatha looked at him in shock for a few moments.

‘Well, fine,’ she finally said, with an effort of will suppressing the shudder that had seized her again. ‘This is an honest agreement. Deal.’

***

The gray castle wall looked bluish-black in the evening light.

Agatha chewed on the tip of her pencil thoughtfully.

‘One more time, please,’ she said.

‘No way,’ Dracula denied. ‘I'm over it.’

Agatha looked at him in surprise.

‘You couldn't get tired,’ she said displeased. ‘You climbed the wall six times and went back down, and you didn't even get out of breath.’

‘I don’t need to breathe,’ Dracula reminded her. ‘Do you know the ‘mental exhaustion’ concept?’ he asked, letting go of an invisible ledge on the stone and jumping to the ground a couple of steps from her.

‘Those who thirst for knowledge must be persistent,’ Agatha replied. ‘Plus, you promised me full access.’

‘I had no idea that it would mean such monotonous... activities!’

‘But this is the essence of the experiment,’ Agatha thrust a pencil into a notebook, laying down the necessary page. ‘If you want to be sure that a stone thrown down will certainly fall, you must throw it at least a hundred times.’

‘I will not allow you to throw me at least a hundred times,’ said Dracula and, turning, walked towards the doors of the castle.

Agatha chuckled. Perhaps she really went too far with the wall. On the other hand, how else to know the limit of his capabilities?

During the three weeks that she spent in Dracula's castle, Agatha managed to make sure that this was not so easy.

What did she not do with him – fired from a musket, from a pistol, from a bow and some strange thing, which, having taken out of one of the cabinets in the library, the Count handed her with a mocking smile, assuring that the needles with which it was loaded, soaked in Indian poison. At the request of Agatha, he plunged under the water, where he laid for hours, jumped from the south tower (and from the north – Agatha suspected that the south tower was not high enough) and landed exactly on his feet, once he was even pierced with a family sword that had been passed on to his family from the twelfth century, – useless: nothing took the Count.

Aspen stakes were banned.

‘Technically I'm dead, Agatha,’ Dracula told her, absentmindedly yanking out the sword. ‘I advise you to put up with it.’

The faint rustle of wings brought her back to reality. Lifting her head, Agatha saw a bat perched on a sheer wall. Restraining the urge to stick her tongue out to it, Agatha shook her head and followed the Count.

...

‘And yet you are too simplistic about things,’ Agatha remarked that evening during dinner.

The Count's raised eyebrow expressed extreme skepticism.

‘If you’re talking about that passage from St. Augustine, Agatha, – don’t waste time – we will never agree on it.’

‘I mean, in terms of practice, not theory.’ Agatha waved her hand. A fragment from a rare edition of the writings of a Catholic saint was discovered by her in the library a week ago, and all this week they had been arguing about it to the point of hoarseness. But now she was interested in something else.

She paused, popping a spoonful of fish oil into her mouth, and shuddered in disgust. Dracula silently pushed a glass of wine towards her.

‘Try at least once to look from the outside at how you live,’ Agatha nodded gratefully and took a sip from the glass. ‘After all, you divide the whole world into those for whom you hunt, and those who could or who hunt you. As if... as if you were stuck in a world where you had to kill another in order not to die. There are almost no nuances in this world, but only black and white,’ she finished thoughtfully.

‘Nuances are a luxury for those who don't need to think about survival,’ Dracula narrowed his eyes.

‘Perhaps,’ Agatha nodded, touching the edge of the glass with her finger, ‘but have you ever thought that the same goal can be achieved more easily and at much lower costs?’

Dracula glanced at her with interest across the table.

‘For example?’ beautiful lips quivered, prudently baring fangs.

‘Well, just look at your ration,’ Agatha continued serenely, ‘does it satisfy you?’

‘Why shouldn't it?’

‘At least because it is primitive and meager,’ Agatha spread her hands. ‘Who are you eat?’ she said, ignoring his angry look. ‘The locals know you and get the castle round here, but you cannot leave it for a long time and go far. You said that you need to sleep in your native land. Plus the need to avoid the sun. That's why they bring you food here. Every two weeks or less? More often it would be suspicious. I assume you are on a strict diet.’

Dracula's eyes darkened.

‘With an economical approach, one person is enough for ten days,’ he said coldly. ‘It happens that you can stretch it even longer. More convenient than a haphazard hunt – even taking into account the maintenance costs and payment for silence for those who choose them and deliver them to the castle.’

‘Are you talking about this Mr. Renfield?’ Agatha grimaced. ‘Strange type. That's who really scares.’

Dracula grinned.

‘He doesn't bite.’

‘He doesn't need to,’ Agatha snorted. ‘And so will you, if you take the trouble to think and listen to what I want to offer you.’

Dracula raised an eyebrow in a questioning gesture.

‘The one you need is not a lawyer, but a doctor,’ Agatha said triumphantly.

...

‘Bloodletting?’ Dracula leaned back in his chair and ran a finger over his lips.

‘It's cheaper and more convenient than looking for someone new every two weeks, and in the future, it will allow you to expand the range of abilities and traits that you want to take, and also – you`ll better try them,’ Agatha nodded. ‘And you can fire Renfield. I think he's crazy.’

‘He dreams of world domination,’ Dracula noted absently. ‘Agatha, are you suggesting me to hire volunteers for my table?’

Agatha smiled at the mixture of disbelief and surprise in his tone.

‘What's wrong?’

‘What makes you think I will like it?’

She narrowed her eyes contentedly.

‘You don't like restrictions. Yes, you have reconciled with some, you had to reconcile – with the impossibility of entering someone else's house without an invitation or finding yourself in the sun, for example,’ Agatha paused. Now Dracula's face was tense and motionless. ‘You studied them and turned them into attributes of your legend,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘Where it is something incomprehensible and strange, there is a mystery. It is useful to you. The vampire comes under the cover of darkness – peasants and sensitive girls weep. But the obsession with food and the threat of hunger,’ Agatha leaned over and finished in a low voice, ‘sets you off.’

Dracula's return smile was both predatory and delighted.

‘Just think about it, and I doubted you. Fine, Agatha,’ he said. ‘Let's try bloodletting.’

***

The chandelier horns were like antlers. Perhaps they were the... Well, the frames for the chandeliers were made of deer antlers. Agatha put down her pencil and rubbed her eyes wearily. Perhaps she should devote more time to walks in the fresh air, she thought, otherwise she would soon see deer muzzles under the antlers.

She slowly leafed through the notebook in which she was making notes. Her gaze slid indifferently along the lines, not stopping at anything. Agatha sighed. The work was frankly not going on. From the very morning, she was tormented by dizziness and weakness. They retreated briefly, but soon rolled over again, capturing her entirely and not allowing her to concentrate.

‘Do you practice drawing?’

Lowering her eyes, Agatha stared at the absurd ornament that adorned the edge of the page she opened at random. She chuckled.

‘Helps me think. Or not to think – whichever is more needed at the moment’ without taking her eyes off the notebook, she answered Dracula, who was standing behind her.

‘What goes easier?’ he walked to his usual place at the head of the table. In his hands was a crystal decanter half full.

Agatha shrugged.

‘You yourself know. How are your new victims?’ the topic of obsessive thoughts was unpleasant, and she really wanted to change it.

‘You mean those well-fed Hungarian traders who are afraid of the lancet?’ clarified Dracula, removing the cork from the neck. ‘Rough a little, but interesting. Perhaps it is worth taking the risk...’ bringing the decanter to his nose and sniffing at the contents, he muttered.

‘Yes, I do,’ Agatha nodded. ‘I heard their screams,’ she said. ‘Mere children. Scared of medical instruments. After all, besides this, there is absolutely nothing to be afraid of here.’

Dracula closed the decanter and set it on the table.

‘Fear spoils the taste,’ he said edifyingly, ‘that's why I ordered for them – and for myself, of course,’ he added, seeing the skeptical expression on her face, ‘from Budapest, the best doctor. And how did they repay me?’

Agatha laughed.

They scattered like a flock of chickens. Don't worry so much – you will find new ones.’

She leaned back. She felt dizzy again. How soon will it become permanent, Agatha asked herself. How soon will she need help to leave the room? She spent almost two months in the castle. Agatha smiled bitterly. Diseases don't look at the calendar. The deterioration may come earlier and later than that Romanian doctor predicted for her. How soon will she be unable to hold the pen?

‘Agatha, you haven't heard a word of what I said,’ Dracula's voice reached her.

Agatha shuddered.

‘I... Yes, I'm sorry. What about the traders?’ asked, running her hands over her face.

‘Forget the traders,’ Dracula said angrily. ‘You got half the sentence,’ he remarked, softening. ‘I said that one way or another, everything is for the best: they do not suit me. Overly mundane,’ explained the Count in response to her questioning look. ‘No far-reaching plans, no dreams.’

‘Not like you,’ Agatha could not resist; the dizziness disappeared, but it became difficult to breathe. ‘Sit in the castle and plan daring forays to the nearest village.’

He laughed.

‘And this is the part you missed – I asked about your own dreams and plans. They... I guess they have changed over the past few months, and yet...’ the Count paused. ‘Did you dream about something?’

She sighed. It was painful. Her dreams remained where there was no fatigue, the earth trembling under her feet, and attacks of suffocation. The doctor said it would be like consumption. It could be worse, Agatha thought. Standing up, she looked at Dracula.

‘I dreamed of traveling,’ she said softly and turned to leave.

And then she buried herself in the hard man's chest.

Agatha drew in a sharp breath. She kept forgetting how fast he could move.

He smelled of the evening forest, a little – eucalyptus, and for some reason – chicory.

‘I experimented with spices. I was trying to improve this swill,’ said the Count, nodding towards the decanter standing on the table. Her thoughts must be obvious, Agatha noted indifferently. ‘Tell me where you would like to go?’

Agatha turned away and looked at the brightly burning lamp on the wall for several seconds.

‘To Spain. There is a sunny and warm sea.’

The flavor of chicory and eucalyptus was joined by the scent of pine.

Agatha raised her head to ask where... And froze.

She stood in the middle of a small cove formed by yellow-gray rocks separating from the rest of the shore a narrow crescent of sand and a smooth sheet of blue transparent water. Sprawling pine trees climbed over the rocks. The wind was filled with the scent of pine needles and the sun-warmed sea.

Dracula was nowhere to be seen. Looking around, Agatha took a few steps across the sand and stopped at the edge of the surf.

‘It can't be,’ she said, bending over and immersing her hand into warm water. A crab ran out of the retreating wave and disappeared among the stones.

‘As you can see, it can,’ a familiar voice was heard next to Agatha.

Agatha straightened slowly.

‘What's happening?’ she asked.

Dracula was silent. Taking a quick glance at him, Agatha walked along the coast and came back.

‘Even you cannot travel so fast such distances,’ she said to the Count, who examined her curiously. ‘Plus,’ she frowned, ‘you don't go out in the sun. It's not real,’ she announced the obvious conclusion.

‘This is Costa Brava,’ Dracula shrugged. ‘For me, that's enough.’

Agatha nodded thoughtfully.

‘But how did you do it? Something like hypnosis? Or...’ she choked. She remembered a page from a book she had read two days ago. It said that vampires stupefy their victims. When they track them down, hunt... and attack.

‘What happens to those whose blood you drink?’ she asked, looking up at Dracula.

They never talked about it. Not once since the moment when she confessed to him that she was dying and asked for help. They discussed everything that concerned vampires and Dracula himself, from his bodily nature to his lifestyle, but they never dwelt on how... Agatha did not ask, and Dracula was in no hurry to share details.

‘Why now?’ she said without taking her eyes off his face. A whole storm of feelings – surprise, panic, anger, relief for some reason, suddenly shot up inside her.

‘You looked sick and tired,’ he replied. ‘I thought it might be helpful for you to... take a walk.’

She came closer to him. All other emotions settled into fine dust, only anger remained.

‘And how do you like it?’

‘Surprisingly delicious,’ he smiled.

Agatha involuntarily lowered her eyes to his lips.

‘I need to sit down,’ she said in a low voice.

Dracula pointed towards a thicket of tall grass that flanked the shore.

‘Let's go.’

Sitting on the warm ground and clasping her knees with her hands, Agatha looked sideways at the small glass that appeared in the hands of the Count. He's scoffing, she thought. Turning away, she began to look at the sea. The water was calm and shimmery with shades of blue and turquoise.

‘Does it always happen?’ Agatha asked, turning back to the Count. ‘I want to say...’

Dracula nodded.

‘Everyone sees something different, of course. But the kiss of the vampire works that way for all people.’

The kiss of the vampire. Agatha shook her head wearily.

They sat in silence for a while. Throwing her head back and closing her eyes, Agatha turned her face to the sun. The pine scent was exciting, and she really wanted to sneeze. Suddenly she thought it was not at all like how she imagined what was going to happen when...

She took another deep breath of the heady air of a young summer.

‘Costa Brava,’ she said, opening her eyes and turning sharply. ‘Spain?’

She stared at Dracula inquisitively. He was silent, watching her from under half-closed eyelashes.

‘If you don't like it, tell me. There will be any other place you want.’

Taking her eyes off him, Agatha looked down at the stems breaking out of the sandy soil. She reached out and passed a few blades of grass between her fingers.

‘Like the real ones,’ she said quietly.

And then it dawned on her.

Throwing her head back, she laughed loudly and happily.

***

It was noisy in the yard. Agatha grimaced. Once or twice a week, when new ‘guests’ arrived, the castle and courtyard turned into a focus of chaos. People scurried about everywhere, frightened peasants hesitated at the doorway, looking at each other, and cautiously examining their surroundings, the servants looked at them patronizingly and slightly hostilely.

Agatha insisted on the presence of servants from the very beginning – from the moment when they got involved in an adventure with bloodletting. The Сount resisted, but exactly until the day when two ‘guests’ got astray and lost on the second floor. The unfortunate people were found and immediately sent to Bistritz – accompanied by a doctor and an impressive sum, which was supposed to go to their treatment for a nervous fever. ‘It is better to pay reasonable money to your people than to spend crazy money on the whims of strangers,’ Dracula summed up angrily and ordered staff of experienced servants from Bistritz.

Most of the time they were not visible or heard, and if you did not go down to the kitchen or do not go to half of the servants, you might get the impression that nothing has changed. In a sense, it was. But living in the castle became more comfortable and somehow... calmer. Agatha suspected that the matter here was not so much on the practical side (clean towels and sheets appeared now more often) but in the very presence of living people in the house.

The sound of wheels and shouts from the direction of the courtyard made Agatha put down her notebook and get up from the table. Strange, she thought as she listened, the new guests had only been accommodated yesterday. Who is it then? She went to the door and flung it open.

It was stuffy and cloudy in the yard – the sky, covered with low clouds, in the morning still could not be discharged by rain. Heavy moisture and vague tension froze in the air.

In the middle of the courtyard, a black horse was prancing, on which a young man in an expensive dark blue jacket sat with a grandeur befitting kings and nobles. Nearby, pulled by two more horses, was a small caravan. The doors of the caravan were open, but the passengers, if any, were in no hurry to get out.

Dracula stood opposite the rider, looking at him with an expression of deliberate courtesy that Agatha knew well. Agatha frowned. She didn't like what she saw, although she couldn't tell why.

Dismounting, the young man went to the caravan, after which an exhausted cry came from there.

Dragged by the hand of a stranger, a man in a shabby nightgown almost fell out of the caravan. He was thin, emaciated, and looked like he was out of his mind. Looking around and backing away, he tried to dodge the young man's hands but was not succeed: he was grabbed by his wrist and dragged towards the Count.

‘No, please, don't! Do not! Not him, please!’ the man shouted.

Agatha approached them with a quick step.

‘Stop immediately!’ leaving from behind the Count, she demanded. ‘Let him go now!’

The young man and Dracula turned to her.

‘How dare you treat him like that?’ Agatha exclaimed before any of them could say a word. ‘Count, what's going on?’ she turned to Dracula. ‘Who is this man?’

Your housekeeper is very... initiative, Count Dracula,’ the young man threw over his shoulder, trying in vain to pacify his prisoner. ‘It's funny. Come here, madam, help me.’

‘I meant him,’ ignoring the address, Agatha pointed to the man in the shirt. Turning away from the young man, she looked at Dracula. ‘What's going on here?’ she repeated.

‘He's a gift for the Count,’ said the young man impatiently. ‘Look at him – he obviously escaped from the castle. I discovered him not far from here and found it necessary to return him back. What are you standing for? Keep him!’

With an effort of will, accompanied by a new cry of despair, the prisoner escaped from the young man's hands, but instead of running away, he cringed and froze in place, bowing his head and trembling. As if he was ashamed, Agatha thought in surprise.

‘Agatha, let me introduce my old friend, the Viscount Jean-Louis de Gransy,’ Dracula, who silently watched the scene played out in front of him, died away and stepped forward. ‘Well, hello Johnny,’ he said softly, walking up to the man in the nightgown.

***

‘We need your help, doctor,’ Agatha said, bursting into a small parlor. Turning her head slightly, she gave an encouraging look to the haggard Harker leaning on her shoulder.

A plump reddish man sitting at a desk in the parlor raised his head.

‘My God, Miss Van Helsing, who did you bring me?’ looking at the newcomers, he exclaimed.

‘Suffering,’ Agatha smiled weakly. ‘Help me, Phileas, he can barely keep his feet.’

‘No wonder,’ going around the table, the doctor instantly appeared next to them. ‘He looks like he rose from the dead,’ he remarked, supporting Harker from the other side.

‘Almost so,’ Agatha nodded. ‘Don't ask.’

‘It's part of my job.’ They led Jonathan to the table and sat him in a chair. ‘Agreeing not to ask questions in exchange for a unique experience, a good salary, and the ability to convert almost the entire southern part of the castle into a hospital at my disposal. Where else would they suggest such a thing? ‘The doctor shook his head and turned to Harker. ‘I don’t mean to sound rude, but you know you’re not breathing, young man?’

‘I suppose he does,’ Agatha brushed her forehead with her hand. She sat for a minute, evened her breath, absentmindedly watching the doctor, bending over Jonathan, making a cursory examination. When he finished, the doctor turned to her. His face was pensive and serious. Agatha just silently shrugged in response to his questioning look. The doctor nodded almost imperceptibly and stepped aside.

Agatha smiled involuntarily. Phileas Worchester was a brilliant doctor, educated in London, Berlin, and Bonn, despite job offers from the best scientific departments in Europe, forced to settle in Budapest for personal reasons. Dracula found him there a month ago. According to the Count, he was attracted to the doctor by an irrepressible thirst for knowledge, combined with the ability to perceive the incomprehensible and strange as a game and a challenge and not an annoying obstacle on his own career path. Later, having met the doctor, in addition to the qualities noted by Dracula, Agatha was able to appreciate Worchester's deep erudition, as well as his tact, restraint, and kindness.

‘As I understand... um... Mr. Harker's health is not in danger at the moment,’ she said, looking at the doctor, and, receiving an affirmative sign in response, added: ‘If so, I ask you, Phileas, leave us for a little. Mr. Harker and I... need to talk.’

Worchester gave another silent glance to Jonathan, who was huddled in the chair – he seemed completely absorbed in his own turbulent feelings, and was hardly aware of what was happening or where he was – then turned it to Agatha.

‘I'll be in the hospital,’ he said shortly. ‘If you need my help, send for me immediately.’

‘Thank you,’ Agatha smiled again.

For several long moments, after the doctor left, there was an oppressive silence in the room. Unable to look at Harker, Agatha sat with her hands clasped in her lap, desperately searching and finding no way to start a conversation.

After Dracula spoke to him in the courtyard, there was a change in Jonathan. Having until then been restless and, it seems, wanted only one thing – to get out of the castle and be as far from the Count as possible, when he heard him, Harker sharply raised his head, and there was no disgust, no madness, no fear on his emaciated face. Watching how they stand opposite each other, looking into each other's eyes, Agatha tried unsuccessfully to give a name to what she saw.

Regret. Understanding. Compassion. And fatigue.

Agatha did not remember who was the first to break the silence – quite possibly it was the Viscount – but the feeling of relief that seized all those present, who again had the opportunity to return to everyday phrases and conversations, crashed into her mind clearly, like the words of Dracula, uttered for a couple of moments later.

‘Please, Agatha, arrange Mr. Harker in the best way,’ he said, not taking his eyes off Jonathan. ‘I want his needs and desires to be met immediately. If he needs medical attention, he must get it now.’ The Count was silent for a little. ‘Tell Dr. Worchester this is… my patient. Notify everyone who lives here and those who serve that Mr. Harker can dispose of my house as the most welcome guest. No one,’ Dracula stopped, hesitating, ‘no one dares to disturb his peace or threaten him. He is under my protection.’

Agatha nodded without answering. Turning slowly to Harker, who did not seem surprised by this short speech, she offered Jonathan a shoulder and they left the yard.

‘Listen, Mr. Harker. Jonathan,’ returning to reality, Agatha said, ‘I know that you are tired and you must want to be alone,’ holding out her hand, Agatha touched Harker's pale palm. ‘But may I ask you…’

Harker shuddered and looked at her.

‘Do you want to know how I got caught?’ he asked with a sad smile.

I want to know what my cowardice cost you, Agatha thought grimly.

‘You speak as if what happened,’ she said softly, ‘happened then... and now, it’s your fault. This is not true. You have suffered. You suffered, looked for help, and did not find it.’ Agatha closed her eyes and opened them again. ‘Including my help.’

Harker looked at her blankly.

‘You don’t know about this,’ Agatha said quietly, ‘but when you fled from here and ended up with those fishermen, they sent for me.’

Harker turned his head as if trying to get rid of the obsessive thoughts. On his yellowish-pale face, the departed pain and anxiety again appeared.

‘I didn't want... I couldn't... I had to... had to run away,’ he whispered quickly, as if delirious. ‘Should have been away from here. I didn't want... didn't want to come back here. Return to him. But I was scared.’

‘Scared?’ Agatha did not understand.

Jonathan lowered his head, then lifted it again and parted his lips. Above and below, on strong jaws, two pairs of elongated incisors protruded.

‘I was afraid for Mina, my fiancée,’ Harker said tightly. ‘At first, I called her. I wrote a letter... I don't remember what she looks like, but I needed... I needed to see her.’ He shook his head as if he was trying to organize the thoughts that rolled over and over him. ‘The people who took me in found her. I so wanted to meet her,’ he said sadly, ‘but when I saw from the window a woman leaving the carriage, when I realized that it was her... I thought... I thought that if I... I couldn't allow... couldn't allow her to get hurt.’

‘I understand,’ Agatha said dully and squeezed his hand again in hers. ‘You are a courageous man, Mr. Harker. You have acted selflessly and honorably.’

‘I ran away,’ Jonathan replied bitterly. ‘I hid in the woods for several weeks. I ate... I don't want to remember. That man found me by the road. I think I got lost and just walked in the wrong direction. I didn't want to come back here,’ he said again, looking into Agatha's eyes. ‘He made me.’

‘Of course, he made you,’ Agatha nodded. ‘Don't worry about it anymore, Jonathan,’ she said.

Harker stared at her for a minute without saying anything.

‘You don’t serve him,’ he said, shifting his gaze to their joined hands. ‘You don’t serve Count Dracula,’ he repeated, looking at her face again.

‘No,’ Agatha said.

‘And you are not his prisoner.’

‘No.’

‘Then what are you doing here?’

‘It's a long story,’ smiled Agatha. ‘And you are tired and need peace and quiet. I'll tell you everything without fail,’ she stopped Harker, who was ready to argue, ‘in the end, I owe you. But not now, okay?’

Harker nodded. His gaze was still incredulous but it seemed less tense than a few minutes ago.

‘I have to leave,’ Agatha said. ‘I'll call the doctor. He will help you get settled here and take care of you.’ She paused and sighed. ‘Jonathan, I know how it sounds, but what Dracula said there, in the yard... It's true. You are safe here. Just trust me. No one else will harm you.’

Harker looked at her very attentively and suddenly said in a legible and clear voice as if in front of her was not an exhausted prisoner and a vampire fleeing from himself, but an English gentleman, refined and well-bred:

‘I believe you, Miss Agatha. Thank you.’

***

‘You're not his housekeeper.’

The Viscount, who was standing at the table in the great hall, turned to the sound of footsteps and looked at Agatha. Agatha closed the front door behind her and walked over to him.

She thought that in the week that de Grancy had been at the castle, she was more tired of him than she was of many in a year or two. Considering that she and the Viscount hardly saw each other, and he spent all the time in the company of Dracula, it was really impressive.

‘Not a relative – the last remaining of his family it`s been a hundred years since lying in state. And not his bride: as far as I know, he kept those downstairs in the storerooms.’

Agatha remembered how she first went down with the count to the first floor, or rather, to the basement, the windows of which were located almost at ground level. There was nothing in the spacious stone room – except for half-rotted boards and shards of glass piled up in a heap. When Agatha asked what was stored here, Dracula replied: ‘The past’, and they never returned to this.

‘He says you are a guest,’ the Viscount continued smoothly. ‘But if so, why are you doing his kitchen?’

‘The hospital.’

‘Irrelevant. Hospital?’ De Gransy looked at her in amazement. He looked around as if he was not sure of the reality of what he saw around him. ‘So is it true? Those people who…’ The Viscount fell silent. ‘The Count told me about the bloodletting experiment, but I thought he was just kidding. My God, is this really Count Dracula's castle? Where am I?’

Agatha felt irritation and fatigue begin to overcome her.

‘I assure you, Viscount, you are in the castle of Count Dracula,’ she said. ‘Do not be surprised: everything in our world is subject to change.’

The Viscount's eyes narrowed. Now, standing close, Agatha saw that his eyelashes were very light, contrasting with the dark brown shade of his thick wavy hair.

‘Count Dracula,’ said the Viscount, looking into Agatha's eyes, ‘taught me everything I know. He introduced me to the nuances of hunting, tracking, and stalking, and explained how to choose the right victims. Thanks to him, now I can call myself one of the most educated and sophisticated people in my circle. And I assure you that what I have achieved is not the end. Count Dracula taught me and people like me to value every drop of blood I drink and to select this blood as carefully as a jeweler selects the best of precious stones for his masterpiece.’

Agatha listened in silence.

‘And you want to say that someone who is capable of this breeds food on the farm and drinks the blood of uneducated peasants?’

‘Not all peasants are illiterate,’ Agatha shrugged. ‘I’m afraid, Viscount, since you became a vampire, much of… what you have learned is out of date.’

De Grancy's eyes flashed.

‘Not as much as you think,’ he said, still staring at Agatha. ‘So this is who you are,’ he said. ‘Very curious.’ He paused briefly, examining her. Agatha involuntarily straightened and tensed under that appraising gaze. ‘But at least it’s clear now why he didn’t talk to me about it,’ said the Viscount, smiling badly.

‘What do you…’ Agatha began.

‘Come on,’ de Grancy interrupted her. ‘You understand as well as I do what I mean. It must be sad to realize,’ he remarked mockingly, ‘that in spite of all your pressure and insolence, in spite of all your closeness to him, he is ashamed of you so much that he calls you a _guest_.’

‘I am his guest,’ something inside her froze, responding with pain in her chest.

‘Come on,’ said the Viscount again. ‘Stop it. Your appearance on my arrival, your self-confidence, all these arrogant looks. The way you behave and look at him. How you fuss around this crazy Harker, as if you were not the same trophy and whim, and you are not consumed by jealousy. All this betrays you headlong, beautiful lady. I'm only afraid that you are in vain expecting reciprocity from him.’

The sky in the high window not far from her was dark, colored the color of ancient stone. All week, clouds swirled over the castle and over the forest. The sun looked out for a short while and hid again. It’s probably going to rain, after all, feeling sweat on her forehead, thought Agatha. Startled, she turned to the Viscount.

‘You're wrong,’ she said, staring into a clean-shaven, mocking face. Two lines of a light mustache fluttered above his upper lip. ‘I’m afraid, Viscount, you have misunderstood something.’

‘No, that`s you who have misunderstood,’ the Viscount grinned. ‘Guest is such a euphemism,’ he made a theatrical pause, ‘very popular in high society. It is very convenient to use it when you do not want a scandal and at the same time, you want to politely lay siege to someone.’

‘It's not like that,’ Agatha herself could not understand why she was talking to him on this topic, why it was so important for her to prove that he was wrong.

‘The Count called me a guest,’ she said, ‘because it’s quite true.’ Agatha didn't expect it to be so difficult to say. For some reason, she again remembered the broken glass and boards on the basement floor. And for some reason – immediately – a Transylvanian forest, low hanging branches, wet undergrowth and the broad back of Dracula, walking in front of her. A couple of weeks ago, she managed to persuade him to try going out for walks on days when the sun is hidden behind the clouds. ‘I'm just a guest,’ she said, closing her eyes.

Opening them, she saw that the Viscount was looking at her with a mixture of disgust and curiosity.

‘I'm not here for long,’ the words sounded before Agatha could comprehend them.

The Viscount raised an eyebrow in interest.

‘What is it? Are you bored with the Count's company?’

Agatha turned away. The wind blew from the open window, but it was hot and did not bring relief.

‘I'm... not well,’ she said, looking at the Viscount again. ‘I guess my stay here is a matter of two or three weeks.’

If not less, she thought. The blood rushed to her face in a wave, and inside it stabbed with half-forgotten sadness and pain. She desperately wanted to be away from this man. It is unclear why she spoke to him at all.

Agatha turned to leave and immediately braked sharply: the Viscount de Grancy stood in front of her, blocking the path.

‘Funny,’ he drawled. ‘What a... stupid lie.’

Agatha instinctively took a step back.

‘What are you trying to say?’

The Viscount gave her a sarcastic grin.

‘Are you unwell? You? Unwell so much to count your stay in this mortal world for weeks? And what is your great sickness, madam... Agatha, isn't it?’

‘Miss Agatha van Helsing,’ Agatha straightened her shoulders. ‘My state of health, Viscount de Gransy, does not concern you in any way. I'm sorry I was embarrassed to talk about it. But since this has happened, I expect that in accordance with your title and upbringing,’ she paused, narrowing her eyes contemptuously, ‘you will show respect for the woman and for the person who has suffered a serious illness.’

The Viscount grinned, showing perfectly straight teeth.

‘And you really believe that, don’t you?’ he asked unexpectedly.

‘I believe in what?’ Agatha had an unpleasant feeling as if she was missing something, but she could not understand what exactly.

Instead of answering, the Viscount moved closer to her and took a short breath.

‘You look quite fresh. And you smell nice,’ he said, still smiling.

‘Appearances... can be deceiving,’ Agatha replied mechanically. ‘It’s none of your business anyway,’ she repeated angrily. ‘I…’

‘He drank your blood,’ de Grancy interrupted her. ‘Drank many times,’ he pointed with his eyes to Agatha's neck, just above the loose-fitting starched collar. ‘And you tell me that you are sick?’

The strange sensation that had haunted Agatha from the beginning of their conversation – as if the floor beneath her feet had become thin, like spring ice – intensified.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said quietly.

‘Don't you?’ the Viscount feigned surprise. ‘Or do you really…’ he paused and, frowning, walked around Agatha. ‘Everything can be, however,’ added with a crooked grin. ‘How long do you live here?’ he asked, walking over to the table.

Agatha held back a sigh of relief. The proximity of the Viscount was oppressive and rough, like the mats of clouds over the forest, which still could not rain.

‘Three and a half months,’ it`s long, she realized suddenly, too long. According to the most optimistic forecasts, she should have long been...

‘Not bad for someone so sick that every new day seems like a blessing and a gift from heaven,’ de Grancy said in tune with her thoughts.

His thin mustache moved, reminding Agatha of the legs of flies.

‘What are you trying to say?’

The Viscount did not listen to her.

‘So you really didn't know. My God, he's a genius!’ clapping his hands, he burst out laughing. ‘The blood of the terminally ill is murderous for vampires,’ de Grancy said clearly savoring every word. ‘For us, it is poison, as for people – some kind of belladonna.’

He hardly knows too much about people, Agatha thought out of place.

‘If you were really as bad as you say,’ the Viscount continued, meanwhile, ‘one gulp would have been enough for the Count to understand this. And throw you in the trash. But he didn't. You are probably delicious, Miss Agatha, although you cannot say that, looking at you. And your ignorance and agreement, no doubt, made you even tastier.’

Agatha looked at him in silence, feeling the noise in her head slowly build up. Bright pictures flashed through her mind one after another. Travel to the Costa Brava, dinner in Rhodes, walks in London, evening in some of the distant tropical countries. Her first appearance at the castle and conversation with Dracula. ‘You will make the perfect bouquet.’

Agatha closed her eyes. She felt sick. It can't... it can't be.

‘I've always considered him my teacher. Always admired him,’ the Viscount's voice reached her consciousness, tearing the thin membrane of contempt with which Agatha tried to protect from him. ‘He was always different from all of us. Was smarter and better. I knew he was a real gourmet, but I couldn't imagine that he... could cook.’

Rage and pain arose suddenly, sweeping away at once the numbness and dull melancholy.

‘Go away,’ Agatha hissed ferociously, glancing at de Gransy. ‘Leave immediately, or I…’

‘Or what?’ he responded. ‘Is a chicken leg planning to rebel? It's too late, my dear, lying on the master's table to be offended that the reflection in a silver dish is not to your taste. Should you complain? Your taste has been fully taken into account. It is the only reason for your stay here.’

‘You…’ began Agatha, but the Viscount did not let her finish.

‘And here is our hospitable host,’ he said, looking somewhere over Agatha's shoulder. Agatha inhaled. ‘Let me express to you my sincere admiration, Count Dracula,’ the Viscount said, stretching his lips in a smile. ‘Never before have I seen a meal furnished with such skill.’

Agatha stood without turning.

‘Viscount de Grancy, I believe our business is over,’ she heard Dracula's voice behind her.

‘I suppose so,’ the viscount's tone was light-hearted and complacent; conspiratorial notes sparkled in it, like embers not extinguished in a fireplace. ‘I think now we can go to feast together.’

‘In that case,’ Agatha still did not turn around; Dracula's intonations were calm and full of careless courtesy ‘I dare not detain you any longer. I'm sure France is tired of waiting for you.’

With distant curiosity, Agatha watched the Viscount's eyes widen, and an expression of disbelief appeared on his face, almost immediately, however, replaced by the usual arrogant disdainful.

‘Yes, you’re right,’ he said slowly, casting a glance at Agatha, ‘I have a lot of pressing concerns at home. They demand my immediate presence. I think you too,’ the Viscount added, lowering his voice a little, ‘will find something to do.’ For a brief moment, his face almost completely lost its aristocratic veneer. Suddenly, with crystal clarity, it became clear that this was not a human being. Not a beast. Just a living dead. ‘I will not bother you. Bon appétit!**’ he said, looking at the Count, and, turning, disappeared into the doorway.

When the sound of footsteps died down in the courtyard, Agatha turned slowly.

Dracula stood at the entrance to the great hall and silently looked at her.

‘What for?’ she asked.

‘Agatha…’

She stopped him with a gesture.

‘I'm not talking about why you lied to me, not about why you made me suffer, counting the days and weeks until death, which will not be. Why let me consider you my... friend and trust you... it doesn't matter. I want to know one thing: why did you keep me here?’

‘Agatha…’

‘Why did you do this?’ she repeated, not responding to Dracula's attempts to get her attention. ‘What is it in my blood that you came back to it again and again, – deceiving and making me believe that I will die? You could kill me right away, you could lock me up and drink slowly, without all these complicated plans and ridiculous intrigues. But you didn't. Jonathan,’ Agatha winced, remembering what de Grancy said about her and Harker, ‘Jonathan thinks that you like... or liked to play with victims, but you are not. You rather like... to _dance_. Intrigue is not your thing.’

Dracula walked over and stopped opposite her.

‘It's not that it's especially tasty. Yes, the perfect bouquet, but not the one that fool de Gransy thought about,’ Agatha said looking into his face. ‘There is something more complex, more... more personal. But what?’

Dracula was silent.

‘How long have you known that I am healthy?’ she asked.

‘I suspected it from the very beginning.’

Agatha nodded.

‘But you weren't sure. And Costa Brava was a test, wasn't it?’

He shook his head in agreement.

‘Including. I wanted to be sure. When I took you away from that peasant, you looked tired and weak, but I did not notice any signs of serious illness. So when you said that the doctor... How old was he, by the way?’

‘About fifty... sixty,’ Agatha frowned. ‘Perhaps more.’

Dracula nodded again, as if what he heard confirmed some of his calculations.

‘I thought so. Were you born in Holland?’

‘What does it…’

‘You grew up on your father’s farm, where they carefully monitored what and in what quantity grew on their land,’ Dracula continued. ‘And judging by the way you dreamed of traveling, you rarely leave it.’

‘Yes,’ Agatha said, confused. ‘But why…’

‘You spent this spring outside the home,’ said Dracula.

‘Yes, I'm back…’ Agatha wrinkled her forehead. ‘My father sent me to stay in Amsterdam to visit my aunt. I returned at the beginning of the summer.’

‘Then the symptoms appeared.’

Agatha looked at Dracula with wide eyes.

‘I don’t understand,’ she admitted.

Dracula smiled.

‘Amsterdam is a port city,’ he said. ‘Not only goods and people arrive on ships in the harbor, but also other casual passengers.’

Agatha shook her head.

‘Passengers?’

‘Animals, insects, plant seeds,’ nodded Dracula, ‘some are innocuous, the action of others is intrusive but harmless, and there are those that are capable of seriously causing trouble. One of these grew in your aunt's garden,’ he said, looking at Agatha, who was completely confused. ‘ _Ambrósia artemisiifólia,_ ragweed, imported to Europe from the New World. It blooms in early summer, sometimes it starts earlier, and its pollen causes very unpleasant reactions in those who are sensitive to it, from lacrimation and runny nose to respiratory problems, up to suffocation.’

Agatha looked at Dracula in amazement.

‘But the doctor…’ she said in confusion.

‘Ambrosia was brought from America no later than one thousand eight hundred and seventy-three,’ Dracula interrupted her. ‘It is well known as a foreign weed, but generally little studied. The first reports that this plant causes painful reactions appeared in the same year. But medicine is conservative. Even if your doctor was fifty, he still did not hear about it, and if he did, he was hardly interested in the details.’

He fell silent as if giving Agatha an opportunity to digest what she had heard. Glancing briefly at him, she ran her hand over her forehead.

‘The symptoms worsened after I settled in the castle,’ she said uncertainly.

‘But despite your passion for the study of nature and keen observation, it did not occur to you to associate them with the yellow thickets in the yard and near the forest,’ said Dracula calmly. ‘I'm still going to order to weed them out. However, they have almost faded.’

Agatha blinked, remembering how she wandered around the castle, admiring the golden blossoms, and how she invariably returned from these walks breathless and tired. She blamed everything on growing weakness.

‘Did Phileas know?’ she asked absently.

‘He knew you were healthy,’ Dracula replied. ‘The rest is none of his business.’

Agatha was dumbfounded for a minute. Then she lifted her head and looked at Dracula.

‘You heard the diagnosis of the old village doctor and went to the monastery,’ he said.

Agatha shook off the embarrassment and shame that stirred inside.

‘Don't try to knock me out of my mind,’ she said angrily. ‘It's about your mistakes, not mine.’

He smiled.

‘Mistakes.’

She turned away.

A recent scene in the southern part of the castle, which she witnessed by chance, came to her mind. It was late evening, and Agatha, having finished her business, was going to visit Harker – according to the doctor, he felt much better so that her visit had no practical benefit: she just wanted to talk.

As she approached the door of Jonathan's room, she heard voices coming from behind it.

‘I can not. I can not. I'm a monster,’ Harker's voice said. ‘I cannot and will not put her in such danger. And she won't want to... When she finds out, she won't want to see me.’

‘Your blood is full of her love and faith in you. I almost choked on them.’

‘Nice to hear.’

‘I'm glad I was able to please you.’

Having recognized Dracula in the second interlocutor, Agatha wanted to leave immediately, but something held her back.

It was quiet outside the door for a few moments.

‘You're not afraid for her, Jonathan,’ Agatha involuntarily shuddered, hearing in Dracula's voice the same cold notes that sounded in it when he promised her to kill her. ‘I know you as well as you are, and like all people, you are far from perfect. But you never lied to yourself before.’

Something rustled in the room and footsteps were heard as if Harker had risen and began to walk from corner to corner.

‘You’re not afraid for her,’ Dracula said again. ‘You're afraid of yourself,’ he raised his voice, stopping Jonathan's attempts to argue with him. ‘And you know it.’

There was silence.

‘I…’ Jonathan said.

‘But in that case,’ Dracula interrupted him, ‘you must know something else.’ Footsteps were heard again, and his voice became softer and more muffled. ‘The further you are from her now and the longer you hide, the more surely your fangs will close on her neck later.’

The pause was long and full of horror.

‘It's only a matter of time, Jonathan,’ Dracula broke the silence. ‘Think about it.’

Agatha did not wait for the end of the conversation. Turning around, she leaped from her place and, not caring about not revealing her presence, rushed away.

‘Agatha.’

She blinked awake. Dracula stood in front of her and looked at her anxiously. Agatha averted her eyes again.

‘You could have told me,’ she said quietly, staring at the torch shadows dancing on the far wall. ‘Could have told that I... Do you have any idea how I felt all this time? Can you imagine what I…’

Having uttered the last word, she froze. A vague understanding, like scattered chords of familiar music, flashed inside.

‘What would happen if you found out?’ Dracula's voice sounded next to her.

‘I would leave. I don’t know,’ Agatha said absently, still absorbed in her own thoughts, trying to focus and grab... ‘Would you let me go?’ asked.

‘Why shouldn't I?’ he replied.

Agatha stared at him.

‘If I want to…’

‘You're free.’

He looked at her without looking away.

Flickering on the periphery of consciousness, thought suddenly took shape. Agatha frowned in disbelief and nodded distantly to herself.

But is it really that simple?.

‘You can leave right now if you want,’ Dracula once again drew her attention. ‘If you think that you have nothing else to do here, I will not hold you.’

It became quiet, and in the silence, Agatha suddenly felt the sharp smell of humid heavy air, saturated with the expectation of rain.

Glancing at Dracula, she nodded again.

‘My research has come to an end,’ she said after a long pause.

‘Are there results?’

She smiled.

‘I made a discovery.’

Polite silence answered her.

‘I found out what Count Dracula is afraid of,’ Agatha said. ‘What is he really afraid of.’

Dracula gave her a long look.

‘I would know,’ he said, ‘I was in your…’

‘No,’ Agatha shook her head. ‘I realized it just now.’

He stood motionless and looked at her.

‘You can still kill me,’ she said. ‘Then you won't know.’

Dracula stared at her without looking up.

‘I'm listening,’ he said shortly.

She smiled again and, making a sign to Dracula to follow her, turned and moved towards the exit from the great hall.

‘Do you know what surprised me the most when we walked in the forest?’ she asked, stopping halfway with her back to the door.

He looked questioningly.

‘How much of an animal is in me?’

She laughed and stepped back.

‘Your obsession with this is much greater. No,’ Agatha said seriously. ‘When we walked in the forest, when we went into the thicket, I was amazed not by how animal you are, but by how human. When you did not see, the sun's rays touched you, and you did not notice it.’

‘It can't…’ Dracula began.

Agatha took another step back.

‘All those three things that are written in the books – the inability to enter the house without an invitation, fear of sunlight, and fear of the cross – these are not three things. In fact, there is only one.’

Fumbling for the door handle, she opened it and walked out backwards. Sunlight burst into the hallway, pouring glistening liquid gold over Agatha's figure.

‘Count Dracula is afraid of the same thing that I am,’ said Agatha, smiling. ‘The same thing that we all fear in the end. And from which he could not tear himself away all this time in my blood.’

Dracula stepped forward and stopped on the other side of the door. For a few moments, he remained in the semi-darkness of the hall, looking at Agatha.

‘But if this is so, and my idea is correct,’ she continued without taking her eyes off him, ‘for him, in fact, neither someone else's house, nor the cross, nor the sun are dangerous.’

A second later, she found herself in his arms. In the stream of sunlight, feeling Dracula above and below, and around and feeling the tremor of his large body transmitted to her.

‘Agatha,’ the voice of Dracula, burying his face in her shoulder, sounded a little muffled, ‘I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you're wrong.’

Agatha tried to move away.

‘But are you…’

‘All this time,’ he again pressed her to him, kissing her cheek, ‘all this time I could not stop, not because I was unable to tear myself away from _that_ in your blood, but because I was unable to tear myself away from you.’

A large drop of rain suddenly touched Agatha's face. Behind it – another, and one more, and a minute later she and Dracula were already standing under the warm summer shower.

Moving away from Agatha, but continuing to hug her, Dracula raised his head and looked at the sky.

‘It's a pity,’ he said quietly, ‘that wasn't enough for me.’

Agatha smiled, blinking the water off her stuck eyelashes.

‘Doesn`t matter. There`ll be more.’

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> * A coup de grâce (/ˌkuː də ˈɡrɑːs/; French [ku də ɡʁɑs] for "blow of mercy") is a death blow to end the suffering of a severely wounded person or animal. It may be a mercy killing of mortally wounded civilians or soldiers, friends, or enemies, with or without the sufferer's consent.
> 
> The information was taken from Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coup_de_gr%C3%A2ce.
> 
> ** Bon appétit! (French) – Enjoy your meal!


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